


A Weed Is But An Unloved Flower

by Llama1412



Series: Petals and Stripes [5]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath, Bad Flirting, Bad Puns, Courtship, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Self-Worth Issues, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27791641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: In the aftermath of having cured Roche, Iorveth tries to figure out what he feels. His confusion is not helped by the odd new behavior amongst the Blue Stripes.
Relationships: Blue Stripes & Vernon Roche, Iorveth & Scoia'tael (The Witcher), Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Series: Petals and Stripes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019938
Comments: 30
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from Ella Wheeler Wilcox  
> All flower puns are courtesy of [FTD](https://www.ftd.com/blog/celebrate/flower-quotes-and-puns).

Red. Iorveth’s world was red. It was in the way light shone through the blood vessels in his eyelids, the way the last thing his right eye had registered was blood, the way he covered his shame with a bandana, the way the petals of the campions had crushed in his grip, the way Roche’s blood had spotted his palm. 

The way Roche’s eyes had been bloodshot and red-rimmed when Iorveth had pulled away. When he’d  _ run _ away. 

Iorveth was haunted by the resigned expression on Roche’s face from that moment. As if Roche had known in his core that he was unloveable. Like Iorveth was unloveable.

Only… only Roche  _ did _ love him. And he’d run away and left Roche thinking– 

But dammit, Iorveth didn’t know  _ what _ he felt! How was he supposed to be able to figure it out when his Scoia’tael badgered him and Ciaran worried over him and Roche’s hurt eyes haunted him every time he closed his own? How was he supposed to sort himself out when every time he looked at his hands, he saw flowers spattered with Roche’s blood?

Roche had almost  _ died.  _ Because of Iorveth. Because of his  _ feelings _ for Iorveth.

What was Iorveth supposed to do with that? How was he supposed to figure out what he felt in the face of such overwhelming love?

Roche  _ loved _ him.  _ Him.  _ Even though Roche knew all about the atrocities Iorveth had committed,  _ continued _ to commit. Even though Roche should, by all accounts,  _ despise _ him.

Instead, Roche loved him, loved him enough to nearly die from it.  _ True love,  _ the stories called it and how could such a thing even be possible for someone like him?

“Iorveth?” Ciaran called and Iorveth jerked himself out of his thoughts.

“Ah. Uh,” he cleared his throat, “yes. What?”

“Are you okay?” Ciaran’s brow knit with worry and it was clear from his face that he already knew the answer to that question. “Is there anything I can do?”

Ciaran was leaning through the door to Iorveth’s ‘office’ in the Scoia’tael camp and Iorveth stared up into his face with a frown. 

Should he tell Ciaran? If so, how much? Iorveth chewed on his bottom lip in thought. Ciaran was very adamantly anti-human, just as Iorveth was. Telling him could be good or bad. 

Because it wasn’t just Roche’s feelings, Iorveth realized. His reaction to Roche’s death, his  _ kiss _ – it had been enough to save Roche. That meant – that meant  _ something,  _ at least. He just didn’t know what.

“Okay, staring at me and making faces is not reassuring me,” Ciaran interrupted his thoughts again, stepping into the office and closing the door. “Talk to me, Iorveth. What’s going on?”

“I–” Where did he even start? “Someone – I think–” Iorveth swallowed, grasping for words. “Vernon Roche confessed to me,” he blurted.

Ciaran blinked. “I’m sorry, what? What did he confess?” Iorveth gave Ciaran a  _ look _ and the other elf gaped.  _ “Roche!?  _ confessed – confessed  _ that _ to  _ you!?” _

Iorveth gave a helpless shrug. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Do!?” Ciaran’s eyebrow cocked in disbelief. “What  _ can _ you do!? I mean… dude hunts someone he’s in love with? That’s messed up.”

Iorveth frowned, “I mean, yeah, but it’s not – I mean, he’s never really tried to kill me. And he  _ could _ have.”

_ That _ was news to Ciaran, judging from his face and oops, maybe he should’ve kept his mouth shut after all.

“Iorveth,” Ciaran began slowly, “you don’t – you’re not actually thinking of  _ doing _ something? With a  _ dh’oine!?” _

“I don’t  _ know,”  _ Iorveth groaned, pressing the heel of his palm against his eye. “You don’t understand – he was dying from hanahaki, Ciaran. For  _ me.” _

Ciaran pulled back in surprise. “I didn’t know dh’oine could…”

“Me neither,” Iorveth sighed. “He coughed up red campions.”

Ciaran’s eyebrow arched again. “Gentleness? For  _ you!?” _

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying–”

“Oh, shut up,” Iorveth grumbled. “It’s maybe not the  _ first _ flower I would’ve expected,”  _ or even the fiftieth, honestly,  _ “but it was definitely me.”

“You cured him,” Ciaran realized, his eyes wide. 

Iorveth flushed bright red. “I – he fucking  _ stopped breathing _ and…” he shook his head, “I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore.”

Ciaran pursed his lips. “Typically, getting the Blue Stripes to stop breathing is the  _ goal.” _

“I know. I just – fuck, I don’t know. What the fuck am I supposed to do? He’s – we’re  _ enemies,  _ but I – when I thought he–”

Ciaran crossed his arms, chewing on his lip. “You cured him. I – do you know what that means?”

“...kinda?”

Shaking his head, Ciaran said, “no, I don’t think you do. Love deep enough to be afflicted with hanahaki? Iorveth, that’s  _ serious.  _ That’s – that’s  _ sacred.”  _ The look on his face very much said that he wasn’t sure how to feel about ‘sacred’ and ‘dh’oine’ overlapping. “Do you – do you love him?”

Iorveth opened his mouth, feeling unmoored at the tentativeness in Ciaran’s voice. How had the world gotten to a point where Ciaran was uncertain about – about  _ him!? _

When had  _ he _ gotten so uncertain about himself?

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted. “I – apparently I am invested in him staying alive. But I don’t – before the other day, I’d never even thought of–” Iorveth threw his hands up in the air to expansively gesture to all the craziness that had been plaguing him. “I don’t  _ know.” _

Ciaran tapped his fingers on Iorveth’s desk. “That in itself is pretty telling,” he said softly. “But he’s our enemy. I don’t – I don’t understand how he could love you and still work for Foltest.”

Iorveth swallowed. “I don’t either. But I think – his team knows. They’re hiding it from the king. And Vernon – he thought he was a traitor for it, for feeling – yeah.”

“Well,” Ciaran tilted his head, “he kinda  _ is,  _ isn’t he? Though, well, being a traitor to Foltest – that’s a good thing. You think–” Ciaran cut himself off, pursing his lips and assessing Iorveth with a look. Then he began again, speaking slowly, “what if – what if this is our chance? I mean, if the Commander of the fucking  _ Blue Stripes _ can turn traitor…”

Iorveth reared back in affront. “I’m not – I’m not gonna fucking honeypot him into being less racist!”

Ciaran rolled his eyes, “of course not. But you’re not ambivalent about Roche, and you said the Stripes are hiding this from the king already. So…”

“What, you think they’re gonna suddenly start  _ helping _ us? Not likely.”

“Okay, maybe not, but if they’re not  _ against _ us, that’s something, isn’t it?”

“I–” Iorveth shook his head, “I don’t know, I can’t think about this. I – how is this even real? I mean –  _ me.  _ And  _ Vernon fucking Roche!?” _

“Well, I can’t say I’m impressed with your taste, but if I may be blunt…”

“What, you mean you’ve been holding back?” 

Ciaran waved away his sarcasm, “Iorveth, you’re worrying over what you feel as if the question is a scale versus a select one. Like, okay, maybe you don’t feel the deep emotion that causes hanahaki. But do you have to?” Ciaran sighed, tapping his fingers again. “The question isn’t ‘how do you feel’, it’s ‘do you want to pursue this?’ Yes or no.”

“I–” Iorveth swallowed, honestly not sure what to say. “It’s – you say pursue as if that’s something that can actually happen. But let’s be real, Ciaran. Even if – even if I said yes, it wouldn’t  _ matter.  _ They’re not all suddenly going to defect and desert and stop being racist.”

“But they could stop fighting us,” Ciaran said softly. “They could stop impeding us when we need food or medical supplies. That’s not nothing.”

“Ha,” Iorveth huffed. “Helluva thing to build a relationship on.”

Ciaran shrugged. “So maybe try for friendship first. Apparently you already have the not-killing-each-other bit down.”

There was a rebuke in the words and Iorveth winced. “Better the devil you know?” he defended weakly.

“If he loves you, if he nearly  _ died _ over his love for you,” Ciaran shook his head, “somehow I think he’d be down for any relationship you wanted.”

_ That’s the problem!  _ Iorveth wanted to scream,  _ I don’t know what kind of relationship I want! _

Or, perhaps more precisely, he just couldn’t conceptualize of a world wherein Roche could  _ want _ to be with him. And one where it could possibly  _ actually happen _ ? 

Iorveth shook his head with a heavy sigh. What he  _ really _ needed was a chance to  _ talk _ to Roche without all this hanging over their heads, but that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon. 

He buried his face in his arms and groaned. Ciaran patted his shoulder consolingly.

“Sir!” Iorveth’s office door burst open to reveal a panting young scout. “Iorveth! Sir! There’s – there’s been a message from the Blue Stripes.”

Ciaran arched a smug eyebrow and Iorveth just glared.

“What do you mean, a message?”

The scout held out a crossbow bolt around which a strip of parchment had been wrapped. Iorveth took it tentatively, as if it could burn him.

It was entirely possible it  _ could. _

“How do you know this came from the Stripes?”

“I saw it,” the scout reported. “It was just a few of them – the marksman, the scout, and the – the crazy one? Uh, the guy who blows things up a lot.” Iorveth nodded. That would be Fenn, the bookie. Finch, Thirteen, and Fenn wandering into his forest. Why? “The marksman shouted something I didn’t catch, then he shot up into the air. Took me ages to find the damned arrow.” The scout suddenly remembered she was reporting to Iorveth and stuttered. “Uh. Sir. That is–”

“Good job,” Iorveth cut her off. She beamed at him, bowed, and turned on her heel to leave them alone.

Taking a deep breath, Iorveth untied the parchment and read it.

_ Not a daisy goes by where I don’t think about you. _

Iorveth blinked. Then blinked again. “This… came from the Blue Stripes?”

Ciaran tried to cover his laughter with a hand over his mouth, but Iorveth could see his shoulders shaking. Asshole.

“Look at it this way,” Ciaran snickered, “either Roche is a punny romantic or the Blue Stripes want you to get together too.”

Iorveth just stared at the parchment, utterly bewildered. Why would the Stripes send him this? And it was clearly meant for him – who  _ else  _ would they send bizarre come ons to? 

Was this some new tactic to push Iorveth off balance? 

If so, it was working. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blue Stripes leave Iorveth love notes.

Over the next three days, Iorveth’s scouts brought him thirteen additional messages. Some had been retrieved tied to crossbow bolts, like the first one, but others were found bobbing in the river at the base of their camp, bottles floating along the current. Then there was the one that had been found at the site of a wild animal attack. Found, as in, the shredded remains were scattered around the forest floor, along with a great deal of both animal and human hair and blood. From what Iorveth’s trackers could gather, he was pretty sure one of the Stripes had been stupid enough to try to tie a message to an actual squirrel.

Was he supposed to believe these messages were coming from Roche? His counterpart was many, many things, but stupid had never been one of them.

Well, not that type of stupid, anyway. He was _exactly_ the kind of stupid that would refuse to say anything until he was literally on his deathbed.

Iorveth shook himself out of the memory, focusing instead on the small pile of notes that Roche’s idiotic team had seemingly sent on his behalf.

_You had me at aloe._

_I really lilac you._

_Life would succ without you._

_I hope thistle show you how much I love you!_

_My love for you blossoms every day._

_I never want you to leaf me._

_Our tulips should kiss._

_Aloe you vera much._

_We’re mint to be._

_Don’t stop beleafing._

_I will love you till the end of thyme._

_I love you a lily more each day._

That last one had Iorveth bursting into slightly hysterical laughter. How the fuck had his life turned into one where human nationalists sent him punny love notes?

Ciaran, of course, found this whole thing a mix of scandalous and hilarious.

“You have to admit,” his second in command said after handing over the last message, “dedication is one of humanity’s better traits.”

Iorveth groaned, “yeah, and they use that determination to exterminate us, Ciaran.”

“I much prefer their determination to see their commander and you together,” Ciaran shrugged, taking a seat across from Iorveth. “Look, for whatever reason, Roche loves you. Enough to die. And you’ve said yourself you don’t want him to die. So…”

“So?” Iorveth arched an eyebrow.

“So, why are you playing hard to get?”

Iorveth choked, flushing bright red. “Ciaran!”

“What? I’m serious.”

“No,” he said forcefully. “You’re not. Because there is no world in which that is a real possibility. So let’s just focus on our actual work, huh? You know, achieving freedom for elven kind?”

“Eh,” Ciaran shrugged. “Your people want a break from what seems like an ever more hopeless fight. These notes have given them ample fodder for gossip–”

“–and most of them think it’s some sick game the dh’oine are playing,” he interrupted. “No one in the Scoia’tael is _actually_ going to want–”

“Because you haven’t told anyone else about Roche’s hanahaki,” Ciaran waved his objection away. “You really don’t seem to believe how important that is.”

“Because it’s hopeless! Because even if I wanted to, it’s not fucking possible!” Iorveth firmly ignored the way his voice cracked partway through his words.

“Love conquers all?” Ciaran suggested, and he glared. “I still think it’s worth you trying. Any enemy not actively fighting us is one less to worry about. But more importantly,” Ciaran reached out and clasped Iorveth’s shoulder, “I get the feeling that you _want_ it to be possible. So why not try? I mean – fuck, Roche almost died because of his feelings for you. That’s – if someone felt like that about me…”

Iorveth bit his lip, hiding his face in his hands. He was far too aware of the way his ears felt too hot and he knew they were bright red. 

“Obviously, I’ll support you whatever you do,” Ciaran squeezed his shoulder, then stood up, “but don’t you think Roche deserves an answer?”

“He got one,” Iorveth swallowed, remembering the way something in Roche had seemed to just shut down when Iorveth had pulled away. 

Ciaran scoffed. “If you were happy with that answer, you wouldn’t still be brooding.” He shook his head with a sigh, “how about we plan an attack? If the Stripes meet us and you’re still ‘fine’,” he crooked his fingers in air quotes, “with your answer to Roche, then I’ll drop it. Deal?”

“Ugh,” Iorveth groaned. “Fine. I need the distraction anyway.”

“That’s my point,” Ciaran muttered under his breath. Iorveth ignored him. “There’s a hawker in town that I’m pretty sure is slipping information to the Stripes on the side. We place a supply order with him, arrange a drop off, and wait and see who shows.”

Iorveth nodded and Ciaran left to go arrange things. Alone again, Iorveth buried his face in his hands. What the fuck was he supposed to say to Roche now?


End file.
